Don't Fear The Reaper

by Lex Sinclair

  *

  The absence of streetlights and other vehicles on the steep mountain road shrouded the car in pitch darkness. Even with the headlights on full beam, the darkness insisted. A sense of foreboding filled the interior of the Ford, but still Roland drove onwards. The road hugged the side of the precipice, meandering up and around. Roland had to slow down vastly as the road careened to the right, merely a yard or two from a black hole that ended after two thousand feet. One minor miscalculation and that gorge would suck him into the night. Probably be dead before the car exploded and a fireball erupted.

  Ascending the mountain on a glorious summer day was often arduous. The narrow road permitted vehicles to travel past one another in opposite directions but was barely wide enough for one car. At night with only the headlights illuminating the road ahead, everything else on either side disappeared. The power steering and 1.6 engine aided him. God help him if he’d still had the transit van.

  Roland could feel the fingers of death coil around his jackhammer heart. The road seemed steeper still at night. He might as well have been trying to drive up a wall. He leapt on the brake pedal when the road turned sharply and gasped. He didn’t even see the hairpin bend until the last second. Any later and at this moment he’d been flying through the air, not even capable of bracing himself for the fatal impact.

  By the time he got to the summit, Roland’s heavy breathing came close to panting. As cold as it was outside, his brow was drenched in a film of sweat. He pried his curled fingers off the steering wheel and saw he’d left imprints. His knuckles cracked and his arms felt laden with tension and lactic acid.

  He killed the engine but decided to leave the headlights on. Over the edge Roland could dimly make out the Crai Reservoir, undulating languidly. Sighing, he pivoted and faced the sty he’d need to climb over and the hill to the summit.

  The cold settled into his marrow. Roland shivered and cussed his forgetfulness and stupidity not to bring a hooded sweater or coat with him. That notion had totally slipped his mind. Although it was June and the sun had been out earlier, high up in the mountains of Brecon Beacons it was chilly. He’d made this mistake once a few summers ago when he took his mother for a spin and decided to stop and sit outside. That was during the day when the sun shone on them. This time was far worse. The sun was a distant memory. In this darkest of nights, Roland knew the sun or any type of warmth had no business being present.

  Rubbing his exposed arms he crossed the road and swung one leg at a time over the sty and ventured to his destiny.

  He’d warmed up a bit from the climb. Snot poured out of his nostrils. He wiped it away absentmindedly as his hands gripped the grassy knoll for purchase. Huffing and puffing, he hauled himself up and rolled onto his back. His breath escaped him in steamy exhalations. When he got himself into a sitting posture, Roland flinched at something he was certain he’d detected in the corner of his eye.

  There was nothing or no one present anywhere in the vicinity.

  What’d you think you seen?

  It was hard to define as it had only been a momentary glimpse, but Roland was positive that amidst the forever darkness there had been a pale white horse observing him no more than twenty feet away.

  So sure was Roland he ambled in that direction, hoping he wasn’t losing his marbles and he hadn’t imagined the dream earlier which was more a vision where the Grim Reaper had made contact with him from another realm.

  Yeah ’cause that explanation doesn’t sound insane, he chastised himself.

  His legs still hadn’t properly recovered from the climb but intuition informed him time wouldn’t wait for him any longer. The ground he traversed was uneven and he staggered and fought for balance half a dozen times before the turf receded and the terrain felt harder.

  By now his eyes had adjusted to the dark and as he squinted Roland could see the shapes ahead of him were stones and pebbles. The ground he moved over was unyielding rock. A sloping path drooped around a massive boulder and revolved back to the right again out of sight. Without any hesitation Roland followed this path, mindful of his footing. He comforted himself by reaching out and feeling the stone wall of the boulder and leant against it for support. Then as he cornered the boulder and the path rose again the council worker ceased at the grand entrance. Before him was the most amazing spectacle created by man, carved out of stone more than a century ago.

  What stopped him and amazed him was a rectangular-shaped monolith, (some sort of ancient relic) at the centre of a sunrise amphitheatre.

  Roland gasped.

  This was what had drawn him. Or rather, this is what the Grim Reaper had drawn him to. Now he had to enter the sunrise amphitheatre where the risers rose up and circled the arena. The plain, indistinctive monolith appeared incongruously no matter how well concealed. It was an onyx hue, quite possibly made out of marble. Roland sensed it calling to him in a myriad of innumerable incantations.

  He should have been afraid. However, the incantations of voices without form soothed his trepidation and welcomed him, encouraged him to enter without fear and approach this inhuman creation at the centre of this extraordinary architecture.

  The monolith exuded an energy source so powerful it could have been a substation of transformers. Roland’s exposed arms prickled with static. An abnormal warmth overcame him and the incantations of a legion rose in volume. In spite of all these ominous signs, he unwaveringly continued to progress further into the amphitheatre. Fear had taken a vacation and all that remained was his destiny calling to him.

  Reaching the centre of the amphitheatre brought Roland to a standstill. The monolith had to be close to eight feet in height. Arching his head back, the chosen one gazed shaking from the din of incantations writhing through him. There was no plinth in front or behind this uncanny relic. Its plain, indistinctive façade was ambiguous. Had it not exuded the undeniable energy and whispered incantations growing to a crescendo the closer one got or had tilted to one side it wouldn’t have exuded the otherworldly aura that seized Roland’s undivided attention in the first place.

  Roland stood directly in front of the monolith and tentatively placed his palms on its smooth, undisturbed surface. His palms appeared to sink into the stone and remained in their place until, without sound, the monolith slid down into the fissure in the ground it protruded from. It did this slowly and slickly. No rumbling or force emitted from the fissure. The monolith didn’t totter in the slightest. It descended as it had risen. Roland stood motionless with his arms outstretched, palms facing away from him, as though the monolith hadn’t moved an inch. The fissure in the ground widened and a green, incandescent fog billowed out, blinding him, enveloping him in its mushroom cloud. The light, as blinding as sunlight, issuing from its core pulsed and shone into Roland’s bulging eyes.

  Transfixed, Roland stood shaking, as though standing atop seismic ground. As the glowing fog coiled and drifted away into the night and poured down the valley illuminating the night, it was then he realised he had gone blind.

  4.

  NADINE MORETZ, (formally Nadine Perkins), consulted the clock above the fireplace and placed a bookmark in her John Saul novel. 8:3pm was an ideal time to call her brother. She had chosen the old dialling phone where you had to put your finger in the circle of the number and rotate the dial, unlike these modern phones where you needed eyes like a shithouse rat to see what you were doing. On the sixth ring Nadine got an answer.

  ‘Hello?’ a male voice managed, out of breath.

  ‘Anthony,’ she said. ‘It’s me, Nadine. Are you all right?’

  ‘What? Oh, yeah. Just got in from this evening’s sermon. How’re you? Haven’t heard from you in a while. I’ve been meaning to call you, but I’ve just been a bit busy.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Nadine said, smiling to herself. ‘I’ve got some big news and something I’d like to ask you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m intrigued.’

  Anthony’s breath had resumed to normal respiration again.

&
nbsp; ‘Ready?’

  ‘Fire at will,’ Anthony said, laughing.

  ‘I’m pregnant!’

  A short pause followed. Then: ‘That’s amazing!’

  ‘I’m almost three months,’ Nadine went on. ‘I knew a couple of weeks ago, but as Larry and I were told previously we weren’t able…’

  ‘Yeah, I know, sis. You just wanted to be certain. How’re you feeling? Is it going okay so far?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve had some scans, but it’s only now am I starting to feel the effects. Bit worn down, that kinda thing.’

  ‘I’m so pleased for you, Nad. I know how Mum said that you’d be a good mother.’

  Nadine suppressed her tears. ‘Just wish she…’

  ‘Who’s to say she’s not,’ Anthony said. ‘Anyway, you said you wanted to ask me something?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Nadine almost let it slip her mind seconds after she’d brought it up. ‘Larry and I would be delighted if you’d be godfather to our baby, touch wood it all goes smoothly.’

  ‘Sis, I’d be absolutely honoured. And stop thinking negative thoughts. You’ve got to be positive for both you and the little one, right?’

  Nadine laughed. ‘Right!’

  They chatted for a couple of minutes longer. Then said their obligatory goodbyes and best wishes and ended the conversation. Nadine nodded to herself reassuringly, feeling better having spoken to her brother and telling him the news. She concurred with his prudent advice. Although there was only two years difference between them in age, Anthony had the wisdom of an old, wise man. At times Nadine felt like she was talking to an old man trapped inside a body of someone forty years his junior. However, at times like these when she thought the worse Anthony was who she got the most comfort from. Even though he was a reverend he didn’t preach about God in every analogy or topic, he merely gave good sound advice and above all was a good listener.

  Nadine returned the receiver to its cradle and looked out the picture window. What she saw made her heave herself out of her armchair and take a closer look.

  Outside swirls of fog rolled together, becoming denser and denser. The fog billowed as thick as a blanket being laid over the earth. Yet that wasn’t all, in the midst of the fog – not forecasted as far as she could recall – was a luminous greenish light pulsating like that of a beating heart. It was mysteriousness and gave the fog a sense of foreboding. It continued inexorably to ascend the horizon and cloud out the remaining daylight.

  The fog’s just reflecting the sunlight, that’s all, she insisted. And although that was the thought belonging to a rational mind, Nadine couldn’t convince herself it was the truth.

  *

  Larry Moretz was sitting at the bar in The Crown Pub, nursing the last of his pint. His friend Pierce entered the pub in a hurry. The bartender, Alex, snapped his head over his shoulder to see who it was and relaxed when he saw one of his regulars.

  Seeing his friend standing in the small foyer, Larry noticed something was amiss. Pierce looked disorientated. He shuffled forward, head down, staring aimlessly at the polished oak floor.

  ‘What’s up, my man?’ Larry asked.

  Pierce didn’t answer immediately. Instead he mounted the stool next to Larry and leaned forward on the mahogany bar gleaming under the spotlights. ‘How long you been here?’ he asked without preamble.

  ‘Forty-five minutes,’ Larry said, consulting his wristwatch. ‘I thought you’d be here sooner.’ He paused waiting to see if Pierce would snap out of his reverie and return to his usual self. But this didn’t look as though it would be happening any time this year. ‘What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘Outside…’ Pierce muttered so only Larry could hear. ‘Outside…’

  Frowning, Larry said, ‘What’s outside?’

  ‘The fog,’ Pierce said, matter-of-factly.

  ‘Oh, is it? Can’t recall them forecasting any when I saw the weather this morning. Having said that mind, what with all these satellites and different channels one channel tells you one thing, the other forecasts something else.’ With that Larry regarded the nearest window and noticed how it appeared clouded, but then it always looked like that. ‘Is it bad?’

  Pierce faced him without expression. ‘That’s no ordinary fog I’ve ever seen…,’ he said. His voice fell away and darkened the warm, genial ambience of the local pub. ‘There’s something in the fog. Something… not right.’

  Seconds ago Larry’s lips and mouth were moist from sipping his pint; now his mouth was as dry as sandpaper. He’d known Pierce for fifteen years. Pierce’s idea of a joke was to discuss recent topics around the globe and put a funny twist on it, similar to that of a stand-up comedian. Some of the regulars likened him to the comedian and Hollywood actor, Robin Williams. Pierce didn’t do wind-ups or pranks or attempt to fool someone, especially his best friend. Also, he did genuinely appear to be shaken.

  It was this reason and this alone that made Larry dismount his stool and cross the pub to the entrance door and take a look himself.

  ‘Fuck me,’ he gasped.

  In front of him the main road had vanished and had been replaced by this impenetrable veil. And as his eyes adjusted to the blanket he noticed that there was a luminous green tint pulsing, throbbing and pushing the roiling fog onwards.

  Larry hadn’t disbelieved Pierce for a second, but he didn’t expect the fog to have covered the whole land and leave not a trace behind.

  How could the weather reports have missed this? he wondered, gaping at the absolute fog.

  He retreated back inside the foyer letting the door close on its hinges, preventing the dense swirls from entering the pub. His first thought was if Sammy was all right. Pivoting, he ambled back into the pub and rested a reassuring hand on Pierce’s shoulder. Pierce recoiled then relaxed, seeing him.

  ‘Now you know what I mean,’ Pierce said in a faraway voice.

  Dazed by bewilderment and trepidation, Larry nodded.

  Alex had averted his attention from the TV and came over to see his two regular customers. ‘What’s this about a fog?’

  Pierce repeated what he’d told Larry, but chose not to add that there was something not right about it.

  Alex glanced at Larry. ‘It’s really bad, is it?’

  ‘I couldn’t see five feet in front of me,’ Larry said. ‘I’m just gonna give Sammy a call. I’ll be right back.’

  Alex watched Larry cross the floor to the men’s toilets. Then he took a pint glass down off the shelf overhead and poured Pierce a drink without asking. The expression masking his friend’s face informed him he needed one; even it was on the house.

  Larry entered the cubicle, put the toilet seat down and lowered himself while turning his mobile on and waiting for it to take him to the main screen. He selected his home phone number and hit the dial button, then waited.

  The call was answered almost instantly.

  ‘Sammy?’

  ‘Larry?’

  ‘Yeah. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. Are you still down the Crown?’

  ‘Yeah. Have you seen the fog?’

  ‘Yeah. You can hardly see anything else. Don’t drive home. Leave it half an hour and then take your time and make sure to put your headlights and fog lights on.’

  Normally Larry would have laughed at her fretting, but not tonight. He shared her dread and thought the same thing. He assured her he would do just that, then hung up.

  When he returned to the bar, the two men playing darts and three old men, watching a re-run of Joe Calzaghe destroying Jeff Lacey, were nose-to-windowpane, gaping at the fog shrouding everything in sight. There was none of the boisterous chatter that usually went on when something big had happened. No, all the men’s faces expressed the emotions Larry felt.

  The window next to the TV where the old timers sat was a plain window with no frosted or cloudy glass. They’d peeled open the velvet drapes and had the most explicit view. Pierce, the other two younger men and Alex move
d away from their vantage points and joined the old timers with Larry.

  ‘Seen some fog in my time at sea,’ one of the old timers said to no one in particular, ‘but not like this. This is like all the fogs over the last few years rolled into one. And what the hell is that beacon in the middle of it?’

  ‘That’s what I was telling Larry about,’ Pierce said. ‘It seems to be the source of the fog. But that can’t be either. This is either someone’s doing to create this realistic fog to mess with the locals’ minds or it’s…’ He trailed off, afraid of the next words he almost uttered.

  ‘Or it’s… what?’ another elderly gentleman said. His eyes shone in his sagging face. The nervousness in his voice quivered his jowls.

  ‘Or it’s… something that can only be described as supernatural,’ Pierce finished, albeit reluctantly. Then he waited for a chorus of raucous laughter.

  Silence ensued. It was then that Pierce wished for the laughter at his naivety. The years of ribbing that would inflict him thereafter was nothing to the icy fingers that snaked around his jackhammer heart.

  Had it been an ordinary fog Alex would have ordered everyone away from the windows, but this was something else. Something that can only be described as supernatural, as Pierce had said.

  Larry was the first to turn away. As soon as he did, the others blinked away their fascination. His lungs felt constricted. The anxiety in the room was like an out of control wavelength. The oxygen seemingly dissipated. Yet Larry knew the effect was caused by his emotions doing their utmost to get the better of him.

  ‘Can I get an orange juice, Alex?’ he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  Alex and the others turned away from the window simultaneously. Larry didn’t know what to make of their stares as they had no expression. He didn’t care for the orange juice he’d asked for but if he was staying for a little while longer he might as well behave as normal. It was all right for Alex, he lived in the flat above the pub. Larry, Pierce and the three elderly men whose eyesight wasn’t exactly brilliant at the best of times would have to venture outside at some point.